For the Love of Hatred
by shaNICE211
Summary: A socialite British girl falls in love with a poor Jewish man who is being protected by her family during World War II. The two form a bond with one another at a time that is most strainful. Secrets are made and revealed. Is this just a girl crazy in love
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: September 28, 1942

Bombs pouring by the minute. The noise piercing through ears. Soles of feet bleed from the chaos that was erupting in every corner imaginable. Sanctuary was nowhere to be seen. My heart was pounding through my chest as I fled from one place to another, seeking a familiar face to surrender to. But I was on my own, a nomad of some sort. This was my destiny…. To die alone as I have always been throughout my life. For some reason, as I hung to life a tad bit longer, I prolonged for someone to take pity on me. Sadly no one would. There I laid on the distorted gravel below-looking into the skies of hell-waiting to surrender to the arms of my enemy. Then, like rain from Mother Earth's clouds, came the point of no return. My eyelids closed slowly as to say goodbye, but a silent gesture so now one would know.

No one would know…

I launched straight forward from my bed, gasping with intensity while sweat dripped from the corners of my complexion. The sticks of arms, which supported my posture, shook from what my eye had just seen or what they appeared to have seen.

Taking a moment to grasp reality, I slid my stone, white legs unwillingly to the side of my bed, hands smoldering my face, listening to the whispers of my surroundings.

These nightmares keep occurring in my once child-like dreams. Not something a nineteen year old lady of my age should be dreaming about.

"When will this end?" I asked myself, though it sounded like I was talking to a companion in the room. By the sound of my voice there was no doubt that my cowardness could not have been taken lightly. There were even times in the late of night when my mother and the house maids were dead asleep in their blissful dreamlands and rudely awakened by the screams coming from across the hall way. I tried to brush this aside as a cause of accumulative of my waking hours spent in the family study, engorged in my late father's mythology books which he brought home after a trip he had taken. My favorite ones were those of the dark tales of the north which usually kept me up all night reading until the very last page.

Pile after pile of lies the weight of my masked away problems were starting to become a burden on me. The pressure it was enforcing upon my brain kept pushing me deeper in the ground as each day past, close to the point of meeting my grave.

I leaped forth and quickly tiptoed out from my bedroom towards the long destination to the bathroom. Time seemed to stop. The still darkness was overshadowed by the eluminating glow of the full moon, lighting my way through the shadows. This didn't dispense the eerie aura that was watching in the abyss. The cold marble floor past shivers through my spine as I quietly made my way to the sink in an attempt to not make my presence know.

No one would know…

My hand reached for the knob in haste where it was ice to the touch. "Another day without hot water," I sighed deeply. All of a sudden my hands had a mind of its own and began to splash water furiously at my face, believing I was still in slumber.

Wash…Wash…Wash…that is what I wanted my mind to do. Scrub away all my worries, though I wish it were that simple. I stood silent for a moment. Frozen in an uncomfortable position which made my entire back muscles ache to stop this treachery. My thoughts were concentrating on breathing properly as the constant suffocation of water drained the life out of me.

There I slowly brought up the strength to pick up my head and look at the mirror, ignoring the voices in my mind asking me to do the opposite. To my dismay I saw what appeared to be me-long locks of cherry colored hair, full lips, and the skin color of a ghostly white. Nothing too out of the ordinary from a place where the sun doesn't shine anymore. My hair was the only thing brightening my dark of day.

But what struck me more profoundly were those eyes. Looking into those eyes was like peaking into a soul with a sad story. Even though my life wasn't grand, this story wasn't mine shining through. Squinting my eyes, I observed very thoroughly at the person, investigating the conditions of my certain doubts. Those eyes weren't mine on the opposite side of the mirror. My suspicion was surely a truth uncovered. If had not seen I would have thought I was looking at myself, but this clearly was a trick I managed to capture in time.

Just as fast as I caught this foolery the reflection vastly transformed into an image of a man-slightly taller compared to my stature with chocolate hair to compliment his defined, whiskered face. A powerful expression was written across this handsome appearance though his eyes, as discovered before, told a different side to him. He dressed in a soldier's attire with what seemed to be in a style of a high rank officer. This outfit he presented extenuated his slim muscular appeal detailing even his broad shoulders through his suit.

There we stood in complete astonishment.

Drip…Drop…Drip…Drop

Not a word spoken. Just the words coming from the water faucet.

Drip…Drop…Drip…Drop

Time progressed and the water droplets began to speak in tongue.

No…One…Would…Know…No…One…Would…Know

I began to blanket my sudden fear by contemplating the solution that this was surreal. The hallucinations were part of this gentlemen's scheme. He wanted me to part from his gaze, a treacherous game to play on a young girl's heart if you ask me. Then, as this wasn't enough to send my blood coursing through my veins, he spoke just four measly words, "No…One…Would…Know."

My legs rapidly sprung into actions and carried my out of the bathroom into the covers of my safe bed.

Taking no second chances of having another encounter with this phantom I locked my door and jabbed my wooden desk chair under the door knob. Like that was going to stop him from floating through the walls.

I whimpered in the covers of my quilt, singing a jazz tune to distract my negative thoughts spinning in my head. But my mind was focused on one thing; the voice who spoke to me coolly was his.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: August 17, 1940

Part 1

A black aura of mist blanketed the once bright of day. Sprinkled with glitters of diamond like objects, it was hard to believe that something as dark can be as hauntingly beautiful. High above rose cotton gum drops, sweetening the dreams of the innocent children lay to sleep. Peaceful echoes bombarded the city of London. Everything remained calm and collected as people rested their heads for the return of the morning sun.

I stood awake though, seated in the little quaint space of my bedroom window. I always felt like the lonely widow standing at the peak of a cliff whilst looking out towards the sea, still stubbornly waiting for her lone sailor to return. London was my ocean; I was the heart broken woman. My love was only for the families who had fathers and sons fighting countries away for a purpose that felt unjustifiable. In my opinion alone it seems to be, a life was not worth losing for the purpose of retaining ultimate power. _Men and their wars_. This seemingly childish play was dragging far too long. But when a woman is dealt with the reality of a man's world, no one would think twice at the thoughts of a seventeen year old girl. To be upfront I wouldn't think twice at my own opinions. For the most part, I am not a wise thinker in the eyes of men. It seems I have presented myself rather boldly to the extent that I appear rather foolish than clever. To add more to my fabulous status, I have an innate ability to skip school more than one should. Though I heavily read my poor grades still fell deeply into a dark abyss. It turned for the worse when dismissing homework every other day became a daily routine. Some matters were of greater importance than others at the time being. For one, I will say for myself and the people that this world battle was needed of dyer attention. Going to the music store and blasting music into the studio still didn't deafen the truth of what was going on around me.

If this war was a disease it would be that of the Black Plague. Massive in death tolls and contagious as a breath of air, it was spreading like infections on the skin. This unanimous topic was not left untouched by tired lips without a conversation attached to the notorious Adolf Hitler and his brooding German army. Newspaper articles and talk shows on the radio were also contaminated with this war fever. There was no seclusion from it all. You were trapped just like every other human being in the world. We were all part of the same bubble of chaos no matter who you were.

Even as France came to its downfall, destruction was endless. The English Channel was now being paraded with airplanes. The ocean turf had transformed into a battle zone between the Luftwaffe and the Royal Air Force.

By mid August the assault was enveloping near the coastal regions. Rumors were coming about of Hitler's plans to invade my motherland. This pausing news seemed to thicken the air amongst here. Days seemed to mingle as one with the people's lit fire of woe. Even with everybody carrying along, taking in each morning, noon, and night with normality, you couldn't dispense the war that was upon us. I couldn't dispense the war that was upon us. It was what kept me up all night with no sense of reassurance that an attack was just seconds away from galloping by.

"Death is near…." My sixth sense spouted in my brain.

Death.

I must be exhausted when all I can conjure up in this young mind is that of the dead. If I follow along this psychotic route, I will definitely end up sleeping in a padded room with all the other miscreants of society. You think you are safe when all you have to cling onto is your sanity, though that can be easily gone if you let yourself slip away. One's most feared enemy in life is the reflection you see in the mirror. They are the ones who stretch your perception of what is real and what is false.

At the moment it seemed the only thing I feared would be losing my strength to deny myself some sleep. Just when my eyes were about to surrender, a knocking sound radiated in my room from the downstairs kitchen. I had the urge to answer the door out of politeness, but with the night sky still brewing along it didn't seem wise to open the door for a stranger at this time of the hour.

_Knock! Knock! Knock! _

Growing impatient, I made an attempt to fetch the door but was immediately stripped away of the chance when I heard the bulging footsteps of Mrs. Evergrin, our pudgy house cook, pass my door and give an exasperated sigh before she loudly descended the stairs that led to the origins of the sound. From what I could hear, she gave the door a tough tug until it finally gave itself ajar, enough to see who was trying to keep the residents of the house from a needed rest. Awakened with this newfound curiosity, I tried my hand at being sly by lending my ear to my bedroom door in hopes to catch a hint of who was this stranger. But all I could muster from the conversation was the tone Mrs. Evergrin was speaking in which changed from hospitable to annoyance. A slip of anger was captured and then all that was heard was a loud bag from the closing of a door, presumably from the cook's doing. It seemed I would never find out the identity of this peculiar fellow who thought it acceptable to visits another's home in the dead of night.

But another tap on the door would soon change that presumption and give me the needed to push to see to the person waiting at the door myself, confronting the man I was destined to meet.


End file.
